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MOUNTAIN-LAND 




" ' G'wan ! ' snapped the Big Cat-Owl." 

[Page 50] 



Moi/jvtaijv-Lajwd 



By 
ROBERT W. CHAMBERS 



Anther of "Forest-Land" " Outdoor- Land, 
" Orchard- Land" and il River- Land" 



With Illustrations in Color by 
FREDERICK RICHARDSON 

Decorations by 
WALTER KING STONE 




NEW YORK 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1906 







LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

OCT 19 1906 

^-j Copyright Entry 
CLASS? O- XXc, No. 
COPY B. 



Copyright, 1906, by 
ROBERT W. CHAMBERS 



Published September, 1906 



TO 

TREVOR HILL 

AGED SIX 





SSill 


^^^~~~^ 9 






HI 


— "" ' 


&V ; '.r.^ffi'-l-r.^w '7r^?^:^ci---— =^=^-— ^ 





CONTENTS 



CHAPTER p AGE 

I. The Mountain i 

II. The Ice Fly n 

III. The Robber 25 

IV. The Bandit Band 39 

V. Silver Stairs 65 

VI. Kit-Ki 88 

VII. The Shadow Chase 105 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



FACING 
PAGE 



" ' G'wan ! ' snapped the Big Cat-Owl " . . . . Frontispiece 

" * O Mountain,' began Peter, stepping forward and waving his 

hand at the woods and rocks " 6 

" The Children scrambled hastily forward over the mossy 

rocks " 12' 



" ■ Who do you suppose I am ? ' asked the bird " 26 

4 - ' Black rat ! Black rat ! Weasel nose ! Weasel nose ! ' 

shrieked the Red Squirrel " 84 

" ' Is your name Kit-Ki ? ' asked Peter, respectfully " . . .90 

" ' We are a giddy pair,' cried the lovely Gracilis "... 106 

"'We are moths!' cried a soft, silky voice" 116 

ix 



• 



v- 




MOUNTAIN-LAND 



CHAPTER I 



THE MOUNTAIN 

UP through the forest and over the 
mountain flank the children climbed 
along narrow trails deep with matted 
layers of last years leaves. Sprays of fern 
brushed their knees; clusters of tender June 



Mountain-Land 

leaves swept their cheeks as they climbed ; 
and all around them, from woodland and 
ravine, out of the forest stillness grew a sound 
— a low, confused stirring, deeply harmo- 
nious. 

"Hark!' said Geraldine, one slim finger 
to her lips. "Is anybody calling us?" 

"I hear it," nodded Peter, plodding on; 
" it's like a thousand whispering voices trying 
to tell us something. If you listen you can 
almost hear a word now and then. Part of it 
is the noise of water, and part the moving of 
millions and millions of leaves/' 

" I can hear birds calling, very far off," 
whispered Geraldine. 

" They're part of it all." 

"And the buzzing of forest flies?' 5 

"That's part of it, too. It's all like one 

great, velvety voice breathing our names ; I 

can hear it when the breeze begins, and the 

water, falling, echoes : ' Geraldine ! Geraldine ! 



The Mountain 

Geraldine ! ' and then, far away, I hear birds 
repeating, ' Peter ! Peter ! Pee-ter ! ' It all 
makes a pleasant, whispering sound ; but there 
is nobody calling to us." 

" Perhaps it's the voice of the Mountain," 
panted Geraldine, toiling upward. 

Then the sweet, confused sound became 
deeper and more distinct ; a distant rushing 
noise grew and died away like a great sigh 
among the trees. 

" The sleepy old Mountain is yawning," 
laughed Geraldine. 

And a soft, drowsy voice answered out of 
the silence : " Children, I am sleepy — very, 
very sleepy. What time is it ? " And the 
voice dwindled, dying to a rustling whisper; 
— "very sleepy — very, very sleepy — children. 
What time is it?" 

Geraldine took hold of Peter's hand and 
stood up very straight, staring all about her. 

" It is the Mountain," nodded Peter. " Such 

3 



Mountain-Land 

— such a tremendous whisper could come only 
from a mountain. " 

" You'd better answer it," breathed Geral- 
dine. " It's best to be very polite to such a 
large voice."- 

"How does one address a mountain?" 
whispered Peter. 

" I — I think it would be best to make a 
gesture as you do in school when you say, 
' The boy — oh — where — was — he ? ' and begin, 
' O Mountain ! ■ You know the Mountain 
asked you what time it was." 

" Not what time it was, but what time it 
is" sighed the drowsy voice. " I know all the 
kinds of times that ever have been — ever were 
— ever, ever were." 

"O Mountain!" said Peter, a trifle bewil- 
dered, and stiffly waving his hand and bring- 
ing his heels together, " it is now eleven 
o'clock in the morning by my new watch " 

" Bosh ! " said the soft, sleepy voice ; " I 

4 



The Mountain 

asked you what sort of time it is, not what 
hour of the day. I know it isn't carboniferous 
time or primeval times or colonial times ; I 
know that much. And what I want to know 
is, what kind of time it is now ? " 

"That doesn't sound quite right," muttered 
Peter to Geraldine. "Shouldn't it be 'What 
times are it ? ' But no ! that is all wrong, too ! 
And what time is it, means what o'clock." 

" Oh, dear ! you had better say something," 
urged Geraldine; "remember that children 
must always answer promptly whenever spoken 
to. 

" O Mountain," began Peter, stepping for- 
ward and waving his hand at the woods and 
rocks around him, "please excuse me for not 
answering more promptly. I have heard my 
father say that times are good, and I think 
that is about all I know on the subject." 

"Who is king?" asked the Mountain 
drowsily. 



Mountain-Land 

"Oh, that was very, very long ago!" cried 
Geraldine. 

"Long ago? No; it was just before my 
last nap. I don't doze very long at a time, 
you know- — a century, perhaps." 

"How long?" asked the awed children. 

" Only a hundred years or so," yawned 
the Mountain. "Who did you say is king? 
George the something-or-other — one of the 
Georges, I suppose." 

"There are no longer any kings here," 
explained Peter eagerly ; " there are presi- 
dents." 

"Are there?" said the Mountain indiffer- 
ently. "What are they? What are presi- 
dents?" 

"Oh, how long you must have slept!" said 
Geraldine pityingly; and, standing there in 
the dappled shade of the woods, and lifting 
one little finger, she gravely began to teach 
history to the aged and drowsy Mountain. 




"'O Mountain,' began Peter, stepping forward and waving his hand at the 

woods and locks." 



The Mountain 

And Peter, clasping his hands behind his 
back, stood beside her listening, nodding at 
times, and peering about him at the great 
trees and rocks with a wise look on his sun- 
burned face. 

"So that is what happened during my 
nap?" yawned the Mountain — "Bunker Hill 
and Bull Run?" 

"All that," nodded Geraldine solemnly. 
"Are you not sorry you missed them?" 

But the aged Mountain was murmuring 
sleepily: "All rulers are alike to me — all 
wars, all peoples, all creatures, all nations, all 
times. Kings, presidents, chiefs, white men, 
black men, red men, furry men — all these I 
have heard of, drowsing here through the sun- 
light and moonlight and starlight of centuries. 
They come as the breezes come in the trees, 
and go as the winds go ; and I slumber on, 
dreaming of the mighty times that shall never 
come again ; ages of fire when I was born 



Mountain-Land 

a mountain while the whole earth crashed and 
rocked ; ages of cold when grinding, straining 
continents of ice tore at my flanks for cen- 
turies, and could not uproot me." 

The old Mountain sighed, breathing deeply. 

" Forests uncounted have been born and 
have died along my shoulders ; vast, living 
creatures, generation on generation, have passed 
away at my feet ; nations lie under the sands 
blown from my crest. . . . Children, I am 
very, very old ; I must sleep now, and dream 
of the mighty times that are no more." 

And, after a long while, Geraldine made 
a timid courtesy to the woods and rocks, whis- 
pering, " Good night, O aged Mountain ! ' 
And Peter made a bow and said : " O Moun- 
tain, we wish you pleasant dreams ! ' 

Then, listening, they heard, very, very far 
away, the deep breathing of the ancient sleep- 
er, which is the ceaseless pulsing of the 

winds and waters, and the endless concord of 

8 



The Mountain 

moving leaves and branches, and the stirring 
of tiny, live creatures through sunshine and 
shadow in the pleasant month of June. 

" How old he is ! ' said Geraldine, awed. 
" Is it not strange, Peter, to think that this 
mountain stood here when all of America was 
buried under ice?" 

" I wonder," mused Peter, "what sort of 
living creatures there were in those days." 

"/ know," said a sweet, cold little voice 
from among the rocks. 

The children turned quickly, but saw 
nothing except gray, weather- battered rocks 
crusted with lichens and reindeer moss, snowy 
white in the sunlight. 

"Did anybody speak to us?" inquired 
Peter politely. 

"•I did," said the sweet, chilly voice, "but 
I can't stay here to talk to you. It's too hot 
down here ; I must go back to the summit 
where I can breathe freely." 

9 



Motinta.in-La.nd 

"Oh, please tell us who you are!' ex- 
claimed Geraldine, clasping her hands. "Your 
voice is so sweet — such a cool, crystalline icy 
little voice ! ' 

Tinkling, laughter broke out like the thin 
splash of water among rocks. " Follow me to 
the top of the mountain, then. I'll go slowly. 
Follow ! Follow ! " 










IO 




CHAPTER II 



THE ICE FLY 



A DELICATE butterfly, with wings 
like gray and brown tissue paper, 
fluttered up into the air and hov- 
ered for a moment around Geraldine's bright 
locks, which were flying like a cloud of spun 
gold in the sunshine. 



ii 



Mountain-Land 

"If you will follow me Til tell you a won- 
derful story of a wonderful family, Geral- 
dine," cried the butterfly in its clear, precise 
voice. 

" Oh, I will ! I will ! ' said Geraldine, en- 
raptured, stretching out both hands ; but the 
butterfly carelessly avoided her fingers and 
flitted ahead, and the children scrambled 
hastily forward over the mossy rocks. 

" We must be very near the top," panted 
Peter, presently. " See how low the trees 
grow ! It's too windy and cold up here for 
our beautiful forest trees." 

" Oh, my ! " gasped Geraldine, plodding 
upward over the summit slope ; " nothing but 
rocks and moss and lichens and scrubby 
bushes. Where is that butterfly leading us ? " 

Peter, stumbling after the butterfly, which 
was flying leisurely just ahead, suddenly waved 
his hat. " The top ! Here is the tip-top peak, 
Geraldine ! Hurrah ! " 

12 




"The children scrambled hastily forward over the mossy rocks." 



The Ice Fly 

" Hurrah ! ' cried Geraldine, swinging her 
hat and standing, with flushed face and hair 
blowing, beside Peter. 

"Hurrah!' echoed the tiny voice of the 
butterfly. " We are above the tree line again 
at last ! And, goodness me ! never, never 
again will I attempt to go down the moun- 
tain so far, no matter what that Silver Bow 
butterfly tells me ! Children, is it not beau- 
tiful up here, so close to the splendid blue 
sky and the clouds ?" 

" Oh, it is beautiful ! beautiful ! " murmured 
Geraldine and Peter, enchanted. All around 
them, far as the eye could see, stretched a new 
country of tumbled hills and mountains piled 
up, mile after mile, like hillocks of green vel- 
vet — for the mantle of forests, the hills, the 
valleys set with lakes and rivers, were so far 
away that lakes looked like little glass mirrors, 
and rivers looked like threads of silver, and for- 
ests of great trees like carpets of greenest moss. 

13 



Mountain-Land 

" Could all that ever have been covered 
with ice?" muttered Peter to himself. 

" Certainly/' replied the butterfly, " and 
my own family saw it." 

" Your family ?" 

" Not my grandfather/' said the butterfly, 
" nor even my grandfathers grandfathers great- 
great-grandfather. It was long before that. 
It was in the Ice Age." 

Geraldine sat down on a mound of soft, 
white reindeer moss ; the butterfly settled on 
a patch of sulphur-tinted lichen beside her. 
Peter remained standing, fascinated by his 
first glimpse of Mountain-Land. 

" I am," began the butterfly, thoughtfully 
waving his delicate, translucent wings, "an 
Ice Fly. I can't live in the warm, close air 
of valleys. Look down there, Geraldine, into 
those green sunny depths. Other butterflies 
may dare to explore there, but I do not dare. 
I could not live in such thick, warm air." 

14 



The Ice Fly 

" I should think," said Peter, looking down 



& 



at the delicate-winged creature, " that only a 
fat, furry moth could stand the cold nights on 
high mountains. " 

" No," said the butterfly, " big furry, fuzzy 
moths live in warm places ; arctic butterflies 
and moths are usually frail, delicate creatures, 
often with thin, translucent wings." 

"Are they all gray and brown like you?" 

" Oh, no ! My friends, the big Parnassus 
butterflies, are gay creatures — snowy white, 
marked with scarlet and black ; then there's 
an acquaintance of mine, who lives in Labra- 
dor, a frivolous moth marked with light brown, 
peacock blue, and flame color ; and when the 
sudden, early snows come whirling over the 
land it is wonderful to see him fluttering 
among the drifts like a living jewel. But he 
is not a real Ice Fly such as I am." 

" I had no idea there were such things as 
Ice Flies," said Geraldine slowly. " I have 
4 15 



Mountain-Land 

always thought of butterflies and flowers and 
green leaves and hot sunlight together/' 

" Nonsense ! " said the Ice Butterfly; "why, 
even down in the valley some of the butter- 
flies fly while the snow is still on the ground ! 
Your friend the Camberwell Beauty flies in 
December sometimes ; so does the little white 
and black Chain Moth. And, in March, 
while the snow still chokes the woods, on a 
sunny day you may sometimes see not only the 
Camberwell Beauty flitting over the snow, but 
also the Red Admiral stretching his rheumatic 
wings in a bar of warm sunlight, and feeding 
on fresh maple sap. But it isn't the cold 
alone that I require, children ; it's the thin 
air of high mountain peaks. There's only one 
mountain top in all the northeast where the air 
is thin and cold enough for me to live in 
comfort." 

"Is this the mountain?' 3 asked the chil- 
dren curiously. 

16 



The Ice Fly 

" No ; I sometimes fly here and play about 
for a week or two, but neither I nor any of my 
family can ever make up our minds to settle 
here. No, children, we find even this peak 
too warm for us. Ever since the age of Ice, 
ever since the time when all the valleys were 
covered with glaciers, a colony of us has 
existed on the highest mountain peak in the 
White Mountains. So you see, we are very, 
very proud of our colony, and of our colonial 
descent. As a matter of fact, Geraldine, we 
are a little too proud to associate with butter- 
flies whose families are not as old as ours." 

" Oh, dear ! " said Geraldine, " that is snob- 
bish, isn't it?" 

"Very," said the Ice Fly coldly, "very 
snobbish. We Ice Flies are all snobs." 

" But are you not sometimes lonely ? I 
should think," ventured Peter, " that if you 
associate only with your own colonial family 
you would find it tiresome." 

i7 



Mountain-Land 

" We do, but we bear it proudly. Bore- 
dom is the magnificent penalty of true exclu- 
siveness. I sometimes exchange a patronizing 
touch of the antennae with Diana's Butterfly, 
you know — that showy, handsome, blue-black 
fellow with the silvery bow bent across his 
wings ; I do it only because he comes up on 
our mountains and tries his best to endure 
our frigid atmosphere. But he can't stand it 
very long." 

The Ice Fly waved its delicate wings. 
" Atmosphere ! that's the test, you see. Any 
butterfly who can stand the chilly, isolated 
exclusiveness of high mountain peaks has a 
sort of a claim on us. The Silver Bow butter- 
fly tries ; and I am very kind and tolerant, 
though " — and the Ice Fly shuddered — " would 
you believe it, children, the family of the Sil- 
ver Bow butterfly is so new that they have 
not yet decided on what colors to wear ! We 

Ice Flies of my family never change ; one Ice 

18 



The Ice Fly 

Fly is exactly like another in color. Thou- 
sands and thousands of years ago we made 
up our minds what our family colors were to 
be, and we've kept them ever since/' 

" But why do the Silver Bow butterflies 
wear different colors? Is it because they're 
young ? " asked Peter. 

"They're such a young family that they 
haven't yet decided on any definite color pat- 
tern for all Silver Bow butterflies. Some wear 
the silver bow ; some wear only a spot or two 
of white ; some marry into the Purple Vice- 
roy's family, and their children wear all kinds 
of colors, and a dozen different patterns on 
their wings. What singular taste ! ' 

" I should think that would show good 
taste," said Geraldine timidly. " Our mother 
says that people should wear only what be- 
comes them." 

" It may be good taste," said the Ice 
Fly, "but we snobs have no taste at all, and 

19 



Mountain-Land 

we don't care whether our clothes become us 
or not." 

" But that is stupid," said Peter. 

" My dear Peter, we are stupid ; we have 
lived so many thousand years in one little 
spot among the same sort of society, that we 
are densely, hopelessly stupid. Why, we are 
so stupid that our wives lay eggs on dead 
grasses, though when the eggs hatch the cater- 
pillars can't eat dead grasses." 

" What do the caterpillars do ? " asked 
Geraldine. 

" Oh, they wander around until they find 

some green grass somewhere, I suppose ! " said 

the Butterfly carelessly. " I remember when 

I was a caterpillar I had a hard time crawling 

about among the barren rocks until I found a 

bit of green to feed on. But we old families 

care nothing for the material luxuries of life ; 

it makes no difference to us what we eat, as 

long as we all eat the same thing — what we 

20 



The Ice Fly 

wear, as long as we all dress alike — what we 
do, as long as we all do the same thing and 
stay by ourselves up here in the thin, chilly 
air, and refuse to exchange visits with other 
butterflies, and never, never forget that our 
family is the oldest in the land, and that our 
name is Oeneis Semidea ! r 

" Goodness ! ' exclaimed Geraldine, vastly 
impressed; "what a cold, old family you be- 
long to ! " 

" Very old and very cold. Except for the 
Silver Bow butterfly, whom I encourage a lit- 
tle, I never recognize any butterflies except 
my big, golden-brown Cousin Iduna, from Cali- 
fornia ; my homely Cousin Varuna, from Can- 
ada ; Cousin Jutta, from Hudson Bay, the 
beauty of the family, and Cousin Chryxus, 
who wears magnificently embroidered under- 
clothing but looks rather shabby otherwise. 
That's a family characteristic — shabbiness — but, 

bless your hearts, a colonial family of the ice 

21 



Mountain-Land 

age can afford to let the new families wear all 
the silks and purples and velvets and silver 
and crimson. All we care about is our icy 
mountain top, where we huddle in a circle, 
numbed with cold, and, touching our half-frozen 
antennae, tell each other how great we are. It 
is our one consolation, children, to know that 
we Ice Flies are the greatest snobs in the insect 
world. We are not very pretty; we are usually 
dowdy, often shabby ; our food is poor, our 
housekeeping neglected, and we haven't much 
sense ; but, children, we are Ice Flies ! And 
that is enough for us." 

The dainty little butterfly left the patch of 
sulphur-tinted lichen, darted up into the air, 
and hung hovering a moment between the 
children. 

" This has been a great day for you both," 
said the Ice Fly in a patronizing voice. "You 
have been entertained by a member of the 
oldest of old families. You will never forget 

22 



The Ice Fly 

the memorable honor done you, and, no doubt, 
you will be better-mannered and better-bred 
children hereafter. So glad to have been kind 
to you. Good -by, Geraldine. Good-by, Peter. 
Perhaps some day when you come to the tip- 
top of Mount Washington, which is our old 
family place, we may condescend to ask you, 
for a day, to the Lake of the Clouds, where 
we 

A harsh, cackling laugh broke out from 
among the barren rocks of the summit — and 
the startled children turned. 

At first they could see nothing except gray 
bowlders, crags, and patches of reindeer moss. 

" Pay no attention, children/' said the Ice 
Fly coldly. " It's only one of those moun- 
tain bandits mocking our polite conversation, 
which he cannot understand " 

"Ka-ka-ka!' cackled the jeering voice 

from the rocks. " Sew a patch on your wings 

and give your family history a rest! — or I'll 
5 23 



Mountain-Land 

just perch on one of the branches of that fam- 
ily tree of yours ! " 

"Bandit! Robber!" cried the Ice Fly, 
trembling with either fright or fury. " I defy 
you ! I " 

There was a silky whistle of wings, almost 
in the children's faces ; the butterfly dodged, 
darted, and dashed away amid the rocks, twist- 
ing and turning ; and after him rushed a big 
bird, shrieking with unearthly laughter. 




24 



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CHAPTER III 



THE ROBBER 



IT all happened so quickly that the aston- 
ished children had scarcely time to wink 
their eyes before the bird, circling in 
pursuit, snapped at the Ice Fly, missed, and 
came sailing back on soft blue -gray wings, 

25 



Mountain-Land 

calmly alighting on a point of rock not six 
inches from Peters nose. 

" Well ! M said Peter, amazed, as the bird 
cocked his handsome head on one side and 
coolly examined the children's features, " who 
in the world are you ? " 

"Who do you suppose I am?" asked the 
bird. 

"You look like a giant chickadee — some- 
thing like one," ventured Geraldine. "Why 
did the Ice butterfly call you a robber? 
Surely, surely you are far too pretty to be a 
robber ! " 

" My dear," said the bird, jauntily, " I am 
not what / call a robber. I simply take 
things I want." 

"What things?" asked Peter. 

"Anything." 

" Do you take things that belong to others?" 

" No," said the bird, " because I do not 

believe that anything belongs to anybody until 

26 




"'Who do you suppose I am?' asked the bird.' 



The ^Robber 

somebody has swallowed it. And, after a thing 
is once swallowed, nobody can steal it ; there- 
fore there is no such thing as stealing ; there- 
fore there are no such things as robbers ; 
therefore I am not a robber. Do you under- 
stand, Geraldine ? " 

The children sat staring at the big, hand- 
some, jaunty bird, who sat on a point of sun- 
warmed rock, returning their glances very 
amiably. He was bigger than a robin, blue- 
gray in color, throat and neck white, and 
breast a pretty gray ; a graceful, fluffy, long- 
tailed creature, with bright, fearless eyes ; not 
at all quick or nervous in movements, but a 
model of leisurely intelligent composure. 

"What is your name?' 5 asked Geraldine, 
venturing to stroke the smooth plumage with 
one pink finger tip. 

"Which name?" asked the bird, taking a 

step sideways and calmly looking into Peters 

pocket. 

27 



Mountain-Land 

"How many names have you?" inquired 
Peter, amused to see the bird deliberately try 
to pull a button from his jacket. 

"How many names ? ,: repeated the bird, 
letting go of the button and fastening his 
bright eyes on Geraldine's shoe buckle. " Oh, 
I can't remember ! Some old gentlemen, who 
climbed up here and examined me through 
their glasses, told each other that I was a fine 
specimen of Perioreus canadensis. It may be 
true ; I don't know. Down in the forests the 
lumbermen call me Whisky Jack and throw 
chips at me. One Indian trapper called me 
Wiskatyon ; but I forgive him. Then I'm 
saluted sometimes as Moose Bird, Venison 
Heron, Camp Robber, Snow Jay, Canada 
Jay- — oh, I can't remember all the names peo- 
ple call me ! " 

The Snow Jay had been working away at 
Geraldine's bright shoe buckle, and his con- 
versation had been jerky. Now he gave it 

28 J 



The ^Robber 

up, saying, " It's nice and shiny, but I can't 
get it off. Please give it to me, Geraldine." 

" But I need it to keep my shoe on," 
laughed Geraldine. 

" And / need it to play with," explained 
the Snow Jay. " It's rather selfish of you to 
keep it when I want it." 

" Isn't it a — a tiny bit selfish of you to 
want it when I need it ? " asked Geraldine. 

The Snow Jay, paying no attention to the 
question, tried once more to wrench off the 
silver buckle, then, finding it useless, returned 
to Peter's pocket and poked his head in. 

"What is in there?" he asked. 

" I don't suppose you know how rude you 
are, do you ? " asked Peter. 

" Nonsense ! I'm only curious. What have 
you in that pouch slung across your shoulders?" 

" Luncheon," said Peter, amused. 

" Excellent ! " cried the Snow Jay. " Let's 

begin ! I invite you." 

29 



Mountain-Land 

" You invite us ! ' repeated Peter, aston- 
ished. 

" Certainly. Fm hungry." 

" But nobody has invited you to luncheon ! ,! 
cried Geraldine, laughing. 

" What of that ? I invite you. Come, 
Peter, I'm all ready!' 

" Do you usually act this way ? 9l inquired 
Peter, unslinging his pouch and beginning to 
open it. 

" What a curious lot of creatures you In- 
door people are ! ' exclaimed the Snow Jay 
impatiently. " When hunters camp in the win- 
ter woods I naturally invite myself to dinner, 
and they seem to think it funny at first, and 
everybody cries : ' How wonderfully tame is 
this beautiful bird ! See ! He comes right 
into the tent ! ' So, being a friendly bird my- 
self, I suppose I am welcome, and I start in 
to eat everything I see. Then one man shouts, 

■ He's got my bacon ! ' and another yells, ' He's 

30 



The ^Robber 

got my last flapjack and he's swallowed the 
butter ! ' And the guide throws a teakettle 
at me and begins to call me all kinds of 
names — Hello! Is that a hard-boiled egg?" 

And before Peter could reply the bird 
drove his long, sharp bill clean through the 
tgg, shell and all, and, half-dragging, half-flut- 
tering, carried it to a flat, sunny rock, where he 
broke it up with a dozen powerful blows of his 
beak and hastily swallowed the morsels. 

" Such table manners ! ' sighed Geraldine, 
nibbling a lettuce sandwich and watching the 
greedy bird gulping great bits of the egg. 

" Pooh ! ' retorted the Snow Jay. "If you 

had to use your wits every time you ate, you 

wouldn't have any table manners either. It's 

all very well for those selfish trappers to get 

angry and try to shoot me when I eat the 

bait from their traps, but I tell you what, 

children, there's not much to dine on in the 

winter forests when the nuts are buried under 
6 3 i 



Mountain-Land 

the snow and the mountain-ash berries are 
gone." 

" You poor little bird," began Geraldine, 
pitifully; but the Snow Jay coolly snatched a 
bit of chicken from her fingers, bolted it, 
dragged another hard-boiled tgg from Peter's 
platter, and' began gobbling and stuffing with- 
out a word. 

" We had better eat faster, I think," said 
Geraldine anxiously, as Peter, scowling at the 
Snow Jay, picked out another egg and ate it 
rather hastily. 

The Jay came back, looked into Geral- 
dine's tin cup, tasted the milk, drank some, 
then helped himself to a chicken sandwich, 
breaking it into fragments and swallowing 
rapidly. 

" Pretty good luncheon I've invited you to, 
isn't it?" said the Snow Jay. 

" But it's our luncheon," explained Geral- 
dine, smiling. 

32 



The 'Robber 

"Didn't I invite you to it?" asked the Jay. 

"Y-es; but it's ours " 

"What IVe swallowed is luncheon, isn't it? 
And what I've swallowed is mine. Therefore 
it is my luncheon as much as it is yours. 
And, if it's mine, why can't I invite you to it ? 
It does no harm ; you can't get it away from 
me, you see." 

" Do you know," said Geraldine, consider- 
ing the bird thoughtfully, "that you ought to 
be told a great many things ? " 

" If you'll tell me where I can lunch like 
this every day in the year, I'll be much 
obliged," said the Snow Jay. 

" I will," nodded Geraldine. " Come down 
in the valley to our house " 

"Sorry; can't do it. I'm an ice bird; I 
can't stand heat. Besides, when my wife starts 
to lay her five eggs in March, I've no time to 
dine out." 

" Does your wife lay her eggs in March ?" 

33 



Mountain-Land 

asked Peter. " I should think they'd freeze 
solid. " 

"They don't. I've seen her on her eggs 
when it was forty below zero. IVe seen our 
children hatch before the ice melted on the 
lakes." 

" Poor little babies ! ' exclaimed Geraldine. 
" How can they stand it — with no feathers to 
keep them warm ? " 

"Young Snow Jays are covered with a soft, 
warm, furry down, like chinchilla,'' said the 
bird, carefully cleaning up every crumb he 
could find, and peering into the empty wallet 
for more. Then he shook his handsome head, 
wiped his bill on the moss three or four times, 
ruffled, shook out his plumage, and stood on 
one leg, reflectively. " I hope you have en- 
joyed the luncheon," he said. "Come again 
and I'll invite you to another." 

"You are very kind," said the children, 

laughing. 

34 



The ^Robber 

" If I had luncheons like this all the year," 
said the Snow Jay thoughtfully, " I'd not be 
obliged to eat other birds' eggs." 

" Oh !" exclaimed Geraldine, horrified, "do 
you do that ?" 

" Don't you ? " demanded the bird. 

"I? Eat other birds' eggs?" 

" Certainly. I saw you eat a hen's egg 
just now." 

" But — but hens' eggs were intended to 
eat — I suppose," faltered Geraldine. " Every- 
body eats hens' eggs." 

" So are robins' eggs and thrushes' eggs 
intended to eat — I suppose" mocked the Snow 
Jay. " Every bird of my family eats them — 
my cousin, the Crow ; my cousin, the Blue 
Jay, old Uncle Raven, the entire family eat 
eggs — just as you do. Why should you be 
astonished ?" 

" I-I d-don't know," stammered Geral- 
dine. " It doesn't seem the same thing." 

35 



Mountain-Land 

" That's always the way," muttered the 
Snow Jay discontentedly; "blame us birds 
for what you do yourselves. You eat an tgg ; 
so do I. And you Indoor folk cry out: ' Isn't 
he wicked ! Robber ! Thief ! ' You kill and 
eat a chicken or turkey or duck ; we Snow 
Jays kill and eat a young robin or a thrush 
or a sparrow. And you Indoor folk set up 
a shriek : i Robber ! Bandit ! Assassin ! Shoot 
him ! ' You eat corn and potatoes ; my cousin, 
the Crow, pulls up a kernel of sprouting corn 
or a youthful potato. Immediately you all get 
angry and begin the usual shout of ' Robber ! 
Thief ! ' And / don't think it fair." 

" It isn't fair ! ' screeched a voice from 
somewhere high in the air. " We're no more 
bandits than they are ! " 

The children and the Snow Jay looked up 
instantly ; far aloft in the dazzling blue, turn- 
ing in narrow circles on outspread wings 

which never quivered, floated a big bird. 

36 



The ^Robber 

"That," said the Snow Jay uneasily, "is a 
Goshawk. It's all very well for him to join in 
the discussion, but, the fact is, that he is a 
robber." 

"Why do you call him a robber?" asked 
Peter. 

" Because he is one," repeated the Snow 
Jay, watching the circling bird above very 
intently. " I only take an egg or two or a 
young robin ; but that blue Goshawk is capa- 
ble of taking me! That's what I call a rob- 
ber ! " 

A little striped chipmunk, who had been 
sitting near, listening to the conversation and 
nibbling the remains of a biscuit, nodded rap- 
idly, keeping his bright eyes on the circling 
hawk. 

"They're all robbers up here," he observed, 
munching away. "Old Whisky Jack is only 
a good-humored thief, but down in the woods, 
I tell you, there's a fine old band of robbers 

37 



Mountain-Land 

sitting around. Some of 'em work by day, 
some by night ; don't they, Whisky ? " 

" You're too familiar," snapped the Snow 
Jay, keeping his eyes carefully on the hawk, 
who had dropped lower. 

"You ought to be flattered to have 
an honest chipmunk talk to you — you old 
acorn thief," chattered the chipmunk. " If I 
ever " 

There was a rushing sound in the air ; the 
chipmunk darted into a cleft of the rock ; the 
Snow Jay, dodging the down -rushing hawk, 
sailed over the cliff and plunged head foremost 
into the tops of the scrubby hemlocks below. 




38 




CHAPTER IV 

THE BANDIT BAND 

THE children, excited and indignant, 
ran to the edge of the cliff, just in 
time to see the Snow Jay flying into 
the woods with the big hawk after him, flash- 
ing and twisting through the green tree tops. 
7 39 



Mountain-Land 

" Let that Snow Jay alone ! ' cried Peter, 
picking up a dry stick and dashing down the 
trail, followed by Geraldine, skirts and hair 
flying. 

The striped chipmunk, still munching his 
biscuit, peeped out after them with bright, moist 
eyes. Then, finishing his meal, and packing 
his pouched cheeks full, he called out to a red 
squirrel who sat, very attentive, under a stunted 
blueberry bush : " Come on and see the fun. 
The whole Bandit Band are down by the 
spring in the woods." 

" If I go," muttered the red squirrel, 

"I'm sure to have a row with some gray 

squirrel before I get back." But he followed 

the chipmunk, nevertheless, and they glided 

away among the rocks and scrubby growth 

until they came to the trees again. And 

after that they went racing and tearing 

through the swaying tree tops, traveling at 

tremendous speed until they overtook the 

40 



The 'Bandit Band 

children, running along below, and looked 
down at them through the leaves. 

" Peter! Peter! " called the squirrel. "The 
blue hawk missed your friend the Snow Jay, 
and he's gone to the sweet spring below. I 
hope you'll give that wicked old Goshawk a 
good banging with your stick. " 

Peter and Geraldine, flushed and breath- 
less, looked up through the branches from 
below. 

"Are you sure that the poor Snow Jay 
escaped ? " asked Geraldine. 

" Oh, yes ! I saw him dodge and double 
under the hemlocks. A Goshawk can't catch 
a lively bird in a thicket. What sort of a' stick 
is that you are carrying? Is it a bang stick?" 

"A — what!" panted Peter. 

"A bang stick." 

"What's that?" 

"Why, one of those sticks you Indoor peo- 
ple point at birds, and which say, Bang ! " 

4i 



Moti-nt din-Land 

" Oh, it isn't a gun ! ' cried Geraldine, 
laughing, "if that is what you mean." 

" Fm sorry," said the squirrel, "very sorry. 
With a bang stick you could punish the entire 
Bandit Band. They're all sitting around the 
spring, roosting on limbs and watching for little 
birds and mice — that is, all are watching except 
the three owls." 

"Are there owls down there?" asked Peter, 
awed. 

" Go ahead a little way. You'll see the 
robbers all sitting around," said the squirrel. 

So the children walked on, very cautiously, 

searching the branches of the trees with anxious 

eyes. And Geraldine, not exactly afraid, but a 

trifle uncertain, took hold of Peters hand ; and 

Peter, although he knew that the Bandit Band 

which lived in the forest was not composed 

of real robbers, but only of birds, grasped his 

stick very tightly and marched ahead as 

though about to encounter real danger. 

42 



The 'Bandit Band 

" W-what is that big bunch up there on 
that branch ? M whispered Geraldine, tightening 
her grasp on Peter's hand. 

" Ha ! " said Peter, halting; "this must be 
the Bandits' den ! There is the spring. But 
what is that big bunch up there ? Look ! 
Oh, look ! Geraldine ! ' 

For the shadowy bunch had stirred ; slowly 
a big yellow eye opened in the fluffy mass 
of spreading feathers, then another ; and then 
two ears were lifted and a shrill hiss rang out 
in the forest silence. 

"O Peter!' cried Geraldine, "it's a bird 
that looks like a cat ! It has eyes and ears like 
a pussy cat, and it hisses, too ! " 

"Cat yourself!' snapped a Great Horned 
Owl, ruffling and shaking his plumage in dis- 
gust. "G'way! I'm busy." 

"Busy! " said Peter, who spoke rather loudly 
because he was the least bit afraid. " Why, 
you are not doing anything at all up there ! " 

43 



Mountain-Land 

" I am, too," said the Horned Owl sulkily. 

" If you please/' inquired Geraldine timidly, 
" what are you busy about up there on that 
limb?'' 

" I am busy going to sleep/' snapped the 
Owl. "G'way! G'wan home!' 

At that, on another branch just beyond, 
a smaller bunch of feathers ruffled up, and 
opened two yellow eyes. 

" O Peter ! ' whispered Geraldine, " an- 
other bird -cat! Look! And there's another 
still, without ears ! Three big birds with faces 
like kitty cats ! ' 

"G'wan! G'way! Scoot! Scoo-t!' said 
the big Horned Owl. 

" Shoo ! Shoo-o ! " hooted the smaller-eared 
owl. 

" Scat ! " snapped the Barred Owl, wagging 
his yellow beak and blinking mildly down at 
the children out of two benevolent dusky-blue 
eyes. 

44 



The 'Bandit Band 

" Pooh ! ' said Peter stoutly; " I'm not 
going to run away for you. You don't look 
very wicked ! ' 

-Who? Who-o? Whoo-o? Me?" in- 
quired the Barred Owl in a mortified voice. 

" Yes. I'm not afraid of any bird with 
such big, soft, dark eyes," said Peter. 

" That's what I told you!' snapped the 
Great Horned Owl, turning to blink at the 
Barred Owl with his fierce yellow eyes. 
" Didn't I tell you that you'd never make a 
real bandit? Even those Indoor children can 
see that you are harmless enough." 

The big, fluffy Barred Owl bent his head 
in shame. " It's true, Peter," he said ; " I 
look fierce, and I'm bigger than the Great Cat- 
Owl, and much bigger than the Little Cat- 
Owl yonder, but somehow or other, though I 
have a sort of shy admiration for robber hawks 
and bandit owls, I can't seem to be bad 
enough to be a bandit myself." 

45 



Mountain-Land 

" Don't you catch chickens and par- 
tridges and poor little birds ? " asked Geral- 
dine earnestly. 

" No," said the mortified Barred Owl, " I 
don't. In fact, I'm a beneficial bird in spite 
of myself. I help the farmers by catching all 
the rats and mice and moles and lizards and 
insects that harm his crops. Very, very sel- 
dom do I touch a bird. I — I can't somehow 
or other make up my mind to lead a desperate 
life of crime like the Great Horned Owl 
there, or, as he is often called, the Big Cat- 
Owl. He is a terror and no mistake." 

"Are you?" asked Geraldine sorrowfully, 
looking up at the Big Cat-Owl. 

But the great bird only blinked at her, 
cross-eyed, and snapped his black, curved beak 
and hissed, "G'way!' 

" He's mad," observed the Little Cat- 
Owl, erecting its ear tufts and trying to look 

fierce. 

46 



The Bandit Band 

" Are you a terrible robber, too ? " asked 
Peter, smiling. 

"Who-o? Me?" asked the Little Cat- 
Owl, becoming flustered. 

" Yes, you. Are you a bandit ? " 

" Why — the — the fact is," stammered the 
Little Cat-Owl, " I'm not much in the bandit 
line myself. I admire my big cousin here ; 
kes a terrible fellow." 

" But you don't kill the dear little 
birds and chickens, do you ? " asked Geral- 
dine eagerly. " Oh, please say that you 
don't ! " 

"N-no, I don't kill birds. Fact is, I 
haven't the making of a ruffian in me. I — it 
mortifies me to admit it, and I do try to look 
fierce, but I only catch mice and frogs, like 
my cousin the Barred Owl, here, whom you 
Indoor folk call the Hoot Owl." 

"I'm so glad!' cried Geraldine, "and I 

like you ever so much — you and your cousin 

8 47 



Mountain-Land 

the Hoot Owl. Tell me, you pretty cat-eared 
creature, do you hoot, too ? " 

" No. I sometimes sing a whistling sort 
of song like: Twilly-willy-willy-willy-willy ! 
And when I'm pleased I say whoo-unk ! whoo- 
unk ! several times in a low, pleasing voice. 
And sometimes I begin like this : Ticky-ticky- 
ticky-ticky-ticky-ticky " 

"Stop it!' snapped the Big Cat-Owl, 
glaring at the Little Cat- Owl. "How do 
you suppose I can catch a nap ? " 

" I'm only telling these Indoor children 
about my highly cultivated voice." 

But the big owl only closed its eyes and 
muttered, " G'wan home ! " 

"You look like a dear little long- eared 
pussy cat, you know," said Geraldine. " I 
suppose that is why they call you the Little 
Cat-Owl." 

" Partly that," said the bird, " and partly 

because I have a cry that I use very often in 

48 



The Bandit 'Band 

hunting mice — me-ow! mee-ow ! mee-e-e-ow! 
Just like a cat, you see. I can screech, too. 
Shall I do it for you ? " 

" Let me screech for the children, " inter- 
posed the Hoot Owl. "You have shown off 
enough. " 

" But I can screech a worse screech than 
you." 

" But mine is more terrifying ! ' insisted 
the big Hoot Owl. 

" Oh, dear ! We don't want to hear any- 
body screech ! ' protested Geraldine, her hands 
pressed to her ears. " Please don't try ; and 
thank you very much just the same/' 

" But my screech is such a blood-curdling 
screech/' ventured the Little Cat-Owl hopefully. 

"And mine is so weirdly horrible!' in- 
sisted the Hoot Owl mildly. 

"No! no! no!" repeated Geraldine firmly. 
" Peter and I once heard the Tyrolean Yod- 
lers, and that is sufficient, if you please." 

49 



Mountain-Land 

" Have you a wife?" asked Peter. 

" One/' said the Little Cat-Owl. 

"Children?" asked Peter with a business- 
like air. 

" Six white eggs last April ; six little Kitty 
Owls. Pretty good record, isn't it ? " 

" He never builds his own nest," remarked 
the Hoot Owl. " I do — sometimes." 

" You never do if you can find a messy 
old crow's nest," said the Little Cat-Owl. 

" You steal crows', hawks', and squirrels' 
nests," retorted the Hoot Owl. 

" I don't steal them. They're old ones 
that nobody owns. How can anybody steal 
anything that doesn't belong to anybody ? " 

" Oh, don't quarrel, please don't ! ' said 
Geraldine as the two owls ruffled up and 
glared at one another. "You are such nice 
owls and you are not wicked, ruffianly rob- 
bers and bandits." 

" G' wan ! ' snapped the Big Cat - Owl, 

50 



The Bandit Band 

unclosing his eyes. " How am I going to 
hunt and rob and kill to-night if I don't get 
my nap ? You keep your beak shut ! " — to 
the Little Cat-Owl ; " and you keep your beak 
shut ! " — to the big Hoot Owl. " Chatter ! 
chatter ! chatter ! You're worse than a band 
of squirrels ! You, bandits ! Ha ! A nice 
lot of banditti I've got in my band. There 
isn't one of you except the Great Spectral 
Owl and the Great White Owl that has 
enough sporting blood in him to kill a rab- 
bit ! ' The huge bird glared suddenly at 
Peter with bent head : " And, by the way, 
you needn't call me the Big Cat-Owl or the 
Great Horned Owl either. My right name 
is the Tiger Owl. And of the dozen or less 
sorts of owls in this country, excepting the 
White Owl, I'm the only real rascal among 
them." 

"Are you proud of it?" asked Geraldine 

sadly. 

5i 



Mountain-Land 

"Of course I am, you little ninny! I'm 
a murdering, hooting, bloodthirsty, ruffianly, 
rascally bandit ! I sit on a dead tree under 
the stars and I listen and listen until I hear 
the soft stirring of some living creature. Then 
I drop like a thunderbolt and drive my huge 
claws into the thing — whatever it is. Some- 
times I sit still and listen ; and if nothing 
stirs I scream. Ha! That makes 'em jump. 
And my ears are so wonderfully keen that 
if a hidden creature stirs from fright at my 
terrible, yelping shriek I hear it and pounce." 

"Is there anything good in you?" asked 
Peter, disgusted. 

"Good? In me? No. I don't think so. 
I'm bad — all bad. I want to be bad ; I want 
to be fierce. I kill because I like to kill, 
whether I am hungry or not. I kill every- 
thing I can ; I kill more than I can eat. 
Why, I have slain half a dozen ducks and 

turkeys in a single night and only eaten their 

52 



The "Bandit Band 

heads. And zvasrit that farmer furious? Hi! 
ho ! ha ! ha ! ' 

Peter, speechless with wrath, could only 
stare back into the fierce yellow eyes ; Geral- 
dine hid her grieved and horrified face in her 
hands. 

" Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! ' she said. " I 
didn't know any bird could be so cruel. " 

" Cruel!' snickered the Tiger Owl, snap- 
ping his polished beak. " Well, if you have 
any doubt of it, listen to this. The other 
night I caught an entire covey of twenty-two 
quail, asleep, and I killed them all. This sea- 
son I've killed turkeys, geese, ducks, grouse, 
woodcock, snipe, wild ducks, hares, cotton- 
tailed rabbits, squirrels, song birds, a kitten, 
two puppies, a young fox " 

Peter, exasperated, sprang to his feet and 
shook his stick at the Tiger Owl. 

" I wish it were a bang stick ! ' he cried. 
" I wish it were a gun ! ' 

53 



Mount ain-Land 

" But it isn't," snapped the Tiger Owl 
scornfully. " I saw that as soon as I saw 
you. I knew it all the time." 

" I don't believe you," retorted Peter. " I 
know perfectly well that owls can't see in the 
daylight." 

"Pooh!' said the Tiger Owl. "That is 
what you Indoor people think. You suppose 
that we cannot see by day because we sleep 
during daylight and hunt at night. That's 
all you know about it. I can see just as well 
by day as by night ; better, in fact. All owls 
can. But what's the use ? The wild crea- 
tures we hunt move about by night, mostly. 
Rats, mice, moles, mink, wild ducks — all these 
are astir at night or twilight. And that is 
our hunting time. Then, too, it's easy to catch 
a roosting grouse asleep on a limb ; but a 
grouse running or flying in the thickets by day 
is hard to follow for a big winged bird such 
as I am." 

54 



The 'Bandit Band 

" What a villain you are, to be sure," said 
Peter slowly. 

" Nonsense ! ' retorted the Tiger Owl. 
-Why?" 

-You kill." 

" So does your big black-and-white cat, 
Ladysmith. She kills mice, and all you say 
is, ' Poor pussy ' ! ' 

11 But it's her nature to catch mice." 

" It's mine to catch partridges ! ' 

" But partridges are not harmful." 

" Well, your father goes out into the woods 
with his white setter dog and his bang stick 
and kills partridges ! ' 

-That's different," said Peter, turning red. 
" And anyhow, my father doesn't kill turkeys 
and ducks and chickens." 

" No ; but the farmer does it for him, and 

your father and mother and you and Geral- 

dine eat them. Yet I don't call you a villain 

and wish I had a bang stick to point at you ! r ' 

9 55 



Mountain-Land 

The children were very silent. What the 
Tiger Owl had said was true ; yet they knew 
that they were not villains. They didn't know 
exactly what reply to make. Finally Peter 
said : " But you don't kill only when you are 
hungry. You kill more than you can eat — 
just for the pleasure." 

"So does your father! He doesn't need 
all the grouse and quail and wild ducks and 
woodcock that he shoots. He shoots more 
than he could possibly eat." 

" He — he sends them to our friends," 
stammered Geraldine. 

" And he shoots, not because he and his 

friends are hungry, but for the pleasure of it," 

added the Tiger Owl grimly. " I think it's 

up to you, Peter, to let nature alone and 

quit — quhit — qu-it! criticising the natural 

habits of wild creatures who do from necessity 

or ignorance what you Indoor folk do for 

pleasure." 

56 



The 'Bandit Band 

" I suppose," said Peter slowly, " that it 
is none of my business, after all." 

" Not in the slightest," nodded the Tiger 
Owl. " We're not accountable to a little prig 
like you." 

" I — I don't mean to be a prig," said Peter, 
flushing hotly. 

"You're coming close to it," said the owl. 
" Look at that Goshawk up there." 

The children looked up to see a Goshawk 
on a limb over their heads, staring down at 
them with sharp, bright eyes. 

" You ran after that poor hungry Goshawk," 
resumed the Tiger Owl, "and you shouted at 
him and waved your stick at him, and all 
because he was hungry and was chasing his 
dinner. Let me tell you that if, every time 
I you were hungry, you were obliged to chase 
a potato that rolled away from you faster 
than you could run, you'd go hungry as often 
as we do. And then, perhaps, you'd under- 

57 



Mountain-Land 

stand the world enough to let it attend 
to its own affairs without any advice from 
you." 

"The child doesn't know any better," re- 
marked the Goshawk. " He thinks he's been 
elected President of Mountain- Land." 

"And Grand Duke of the Valley," chimed 
in a big blue hawk on a neighboring tree. 

"And Emperor of all Outdoor -Land," 
snickered a little blue hawk beside him. 

" Let me introduce to you, King Peter, 
three hunting, fighting bandits," said the Tiger 
Owl. " The terrible Goshawk — that handsome 
fellow with a blue bill, yellow feet, gray-lined 
white waistcoat, blue-gray tailed coat, and two 
white eyebrows. He loves his wife, who lays 
four green eggs every year, and kills more 
creatures than I do. Isn't he awful ! ' 

" I don't know whether he's awful or not," 

said Peter. " I haven't made up my mind ; 

and I don't care to be made fun of." 

58 



The 'Bandit Band 

" It is a shame to make fun of him," said 
the Hoot Owl. 

After a moment Geraldine, looking up at 
the three hawks, said : " Are you bandits — 
all three of you ? " 

" I am," said the Goshawk. " I kill every 
bird I can, and I can't eat half of what I 
kill. They call me the Blue Hen Hawk or 
Partridge Falcon ; but my right name is the 
American Goshawk. That fellow sitting next 
to me is the Big Blue Hawk or Chicken 
Hawk. He's a terror, too ; he and his cousin 
there, just beyond him, the Little Blue Darter, 
sometimes called the Pigeon Hawk or Sharp- 
Shinned Hawk. You can tell them always ; 
they have no feathers on their legs — that is, 
only a few, like short trousers on a boy, you 
know — the sort you wear, Peter." 

" I understand," said Peter. 

" Well, then, just remember this, and tell 
your father and old Phelim and all those fool 

59 



Mount ciin- Land 

farmers who run after their guns every time 
they see a hawk: We three hawks — I, the 
Goshawk, that fellow, the Pigeon Hawk, and 
that Blue Hen Hawk over there — we three 
are the only kind of hawks that eat poultry 
and game birds. All the other hawks help 
the farmers by eating mice and insects. The 
big Red -Tailed Hawk, the Red - Shouldered 
Hawk, the Sparrow Hawk, the Broad -Winged 
Hawk, the White- Headed Eagle, the Os- 
prey, the Buzzards, and Kites are all friends 
of the farmers. It is wrong and foolish to 
shoot them. Only one other bird of prey — 
the Duck Hawk — is a bandit. Him you may 
shoot ; just as you may shoot us — if you can. 
Ha ! ha ! — if you can, Peter ! But we robbers 
of the Bandit Band can take care of our- 
selves, can't we, Tiger ? ' 

The great Tiger Owl opened one big yel- 
low eye: "G'wan home, you Indoor kids!' 

he snapped ; and went to sleep again. 

60 



The Bandit /Band 

And all the Bandit birds, seated in a 
circle among the branches overhead, looked 
down at the children and began to croak and 
squeal and screech in a sort of raucous chorus : 

"G'way, little kids, g way ! 

We've told you all we know ; 
We've had no dinner this livelong day, 
So lift your feet and toddle away ! 
Fair play, little kids, fair play ! 

You scare our food, you know. 
We're glad youVe come, but sorry you stay — 
G'way, little kids, g'way!" 




61 




WALTER . ■ • ■ > 

• stow c-r. . .„• i 



CHAPTER V 



SILVER STAIRS 



iA S the children, hand in hand, walked 
X ffl^ thoughtfully away down the leafy 
mountain trail, the Red Squirrel pat- 
tered over the leaves behind them, chattering 

and muttering discontentedly to himself. And 

62 



Sil*Ver Stairs 

at length Peter turned around and asked the 
Red Squirrel why he was so fretful. 

" Oh, there's sure to be a fight ! ' said the 
Red Squirrel. " And I expect to have my 
ears bitten and bunches of my fur pulled 
out before I'm finished. It's all the fault of 
Chips yonder," whisking his tail in the direc- 
tion of the little striped chipmunk who was 
keeping pace with them, bounding along the 
rocks and windfalls and mossy logs. 

" But why do you fight if you don't want 
to?" asked Geraldine. 

" Oh, I like to fight well enough!' said 
the Red Squirrel carelessly. " It's very delight- 
ful when it's once begun ; but I have such 
a lot to do to-day that I really can scarcely 
afford the time for fighting. It's all Chip's 
fault. He loves to see me get into a fight; 
and then he sits on a stump and folds his 
little hands and watches me pitch into one 

of those big, fat gray squirrels." 

10 63 



Mountain-Land 

" Gray squirrels ! You don't fight your 
own kind, do you ? " exclaimed Peter. 

" Certainly I do. I can't endure the sight 
of a gray squirrel in my woods. We red 
squirrels draw the color line at gray." 

"Why?" asked the children. 

" How do I know ? You can't always 
tell why you don't like colored people, can 
you ? I know why I don't like hawks and 
weasels and wild cats ; they try to eat me. 
But I don't know why I can't stand the sight 
of one of those fat, sleek, gray squirrels any 
more than a cottontail rabbit knows why he 
hates a big, white northern hare. But he 
does ; and he won't let a northern hare live 
in the same woods where he lives. And 
that's why I won't let any gray squirrel go 
swaggering around these woods if I can 
help it." 

"But why}" insisted Peter. 

"Peter, did you ever see another Indoor 

64 



Silver Stairs 

boy whose manners, speech, bearing, and fea- 
tures did not please you ? " 

"Y-es," admitted Peter, "once." 

" What happened ? ,: asked the Red 
Squirrel. 

" He — he gave me a push — after I had 
given him a shove." 

"And after that?" 

" I gave him two more shoves." 

"Then what?" inquired the Red Squirrel, 
much interested. 

"We had a — a great deal of trouble," 
admitted Peter. " Our mothers were not very 
much pleased with us." 

"Didn't you gain a glorious victory?" 

" I can't tell you," said Peter gravely, 
"because we haven't had another battle — yet." 

"Then why not give him another shove? 
That's the way great wars begin." 

" Father objects," said Peter simply. 

"Curious people, you Indoor folk," mut- 

65 



Mountain-Land 

tered the Red Squirrel. "When I see a gray 
squirrel whose features and color do not please 
me, I begin to jump up and down and jerk 
my tail and dance and chatter and call him 
names." 

"That is horridly common," said Geraldine. 

" Oh, no ! I don't call him common 
names ; I think of all sorts of new names 
to call him," explained the Red Squirrel 
proudly. 

" But it is very impolite to call names — 
any sort of names," insisted Geraldine. 

" Of course it is. / don't want to be 
polite to him. That's why I dance at him 
and chatter at him and jerk my tail at him. 
■ Oh, you old rat-eared, mole-faced, barefooted, 
mouse-whiskered, moth-eaten, weasel-tailed ras- 
cal ! ' I shriek. And he doesn't like that, and 
he sits up and chatters at me. ' Redhead ! 
redhead!' he jeers. 'Come here and I'll tie 

your whiskers under your chin ! ' And that 

66 



Silver Stairs 

makes me very, very angry, because the cat- 
birds are listening and they're sure to jeer 
at me, and the blue jays hear it and they 
are sure to laugh. 

"So I rush up and down a few trees and 
I run madly about over the dead leaves, and 
I chatter and jerk my tail until I begin to 
be so angry, that I begin to feel as if I were 
beginning to be brave." 

" What ! " exclaimed the children, laughing. 

" Certainly," said the Red Squirrel gravely. 
" That's the way all bravery begins. You 
rush about, chattering and screaming and 
scolding and making a great racket and scuf- 
fling over the leaves. Bravery is pretty sure 
to come if you only get angry enough to scare 
the other squirrel. And as soon as you see 
that he is getting frightened, then, before you 
know it, you suddenly find yourself a hero, 
and you run after the other fellow — that is, 

you run after him as soon as he begins to 

67 



Mourrtain-LcLnd 

run away. And the faster you run, the faster 
he runs, and by and by youVe chased him 
out of your woods and youVe won a glorious 
and never-to-be-forgotten but ever-to-be-remem- 
bered victory. That's the way wars are waged. 
I'm on my way to wage one now." 

The laughter of the children did not seem 
to offend the Red Squirrel, who trotted along 
beside them. " You laugh, " he said indul- 
gently, " because you don't know what a 
terrible thing war is. Wait until we cross 
the Silver Stairs where that old fat gray 
lves. 

"What are the Silver Stairs ? ,] asked 
Geraldine. 

" Why, the brook which comes tumbling 
down the steep face of the mountain. Haven't 
you seen that brook?" 

" I think we must have heard it," said 

Peter. "We heard water falling among rocks 

and it sounded sometimes like voices calling 

68 



Silver Stairs 

very far off, and sometimes like somebody 
laughing at us." 

"That brook does nothing but giggle and 
laugh at everything," said the Red Squir- 
rel. "You try to drink out of it and it 
slaps your face with spray and chuckles ; you 
use a pool as a mirror and try to see how- 
handsome you are, and the water crinkles 
and the reflection of your face is all lop- 
sided and perfectly hideous; and the brook 
bursts into silly, shallow laughter. But we 
people of Mountain-Land are used to it. 
Hark! It hears us now; and it's laughing 
at us ! " 

The children left the trail and followed 
the Red Squirrel a little way into the woods. 
And through the golden light of the foliage 
they saw water tumbling and flashing down 
a rocky slope which was like a great stair- 
way of mossy rocks. 

"The Silver Stairs," said the Squirrel. 

69 



Motinlain-Lcmd 

"War begins as soon as I cross. Like Cae- 
sar at the Rubifoam, I pause " 

"Hello! Hello-o!' called the Brook from 
its silvery stairway set with wet mosses and 
dewy ferns. "Hello, Peter! Hello, Geraldine! 
Why don't you ever come and drink out of 
me ? No malaria in me ! No illness in my 
waters ! Why don't you come and wade 
about in my icy cold pools and turn over 
flat stones to find crayfish, and bait your 
hooks for these little, speckled, fat trout of 
mine r 

A small, sturdy Trout sprang clean out of 
water, quivering with indignation, landing in 
the pool with a splash, and crying out angrily : 
" We're not six inches long, Peter. The law 
forbids Indoor people to catch trout less than 
six inches long ! " 

"Only six inches? How young you must 

be," said Geraldine. " Our friend the speckled 

trout, who lives in the Kennyetto near our 

70 



Silver Stairs 

house, is twelve inches long and weighs nearly 
a pound and a half." 

" That's because he lives in a big stream, " 
said the Brook. " These trout of mine are as 
old as he is — some of 'em are older, too — 
but you see they live in a mountain brook 
where the water is not deep and the pools 
are very, very small. That's the reason they 
don't grow ; it isn't because they are young 
or that they don't have enough to eat. No ; 
they simply dare not grow too big for the 
tiny pools they live in. Why, if they did, 
their heads and tails would stick out of 
water." 

" Would they grow if they went down to 
the big stream ? " asked Peter. 

" Certainly they would. But they won't 
go ; they like it up here on the mountain. 
They are really the same sort of fish as the 
valley fish, only they are a race of little 

people — pygmies." 

11 71 



Mountain-Land 

" Pygmy yourself!' cried an angry little 
trout, wriggling wrathfully out of water for an 
instant, only to fall back again, spattering the 
moss with spray. 

44 Pygmy! Of course Fm a pygmy," said 

the Brook. "Fm not big; I'm not a river 

and I don't want to be one, with a lot of 

steamboats bothering and splashing about on 

me. No; I'm contented to send enough water 

downstairs to keep the big, lazy rivers full ; 

that's all anybody can expect of me. You see, 

my business is to stay here and give these trout 

a home, and furnish free drinks for birds and 

deer and all the four-footed furry things that 

live in Mountain -Land. And what water 

they don't need, and the trees don't need, and 

I don't need, I send tumbling down the Silver 

Stairs to keep the valley streams in good 

humor. They have more to do than they 

have water for, what with all those mills and 

sluiceways and canals and reservoirs and elec- 

72 



Silver Stairs 

trie -power dams. So I don't mind helping 
them out ; / have plenty of water, you know ; 
and I shall always have it unless some idiot 
cuts down the forests of Mountain-Land and 
the sun shrivels the ferns and mosses and 
dries up the pure, cold, icy springs which 
feed me." 

" I shall tell my father about that," said 
Peter seriously. "You are far too beautiful 
a brook to run dry." 

" Thank you," laughed the Brook. " I try 
to be a decent sort of rivulet. I don't breed 
the harmful bacteria that give Indoor folk 
fevers ; I don't breed mosquitoes. There is 
only one thing that I do which I ought not 
to do, children. I breed black flies." 

" Those wicked little creatures which come 
in swarms to bite us ? " asked Geraldine re- 
proachfully. " Oh, how can you do it, little 
brook ? " 

" Fact is, I'm ashamed of it, but I can't 

73 



Mountain-Land 

help it," said the Brook. "The black flies 
lay their eggs in my waters and I can't pre- 
vent them. Why, they have the impudence 
to lay millions of eggs just under the surface ; 
and it's no use trying to sweep them down- 
stream, for sometimes the edge of a pool, just 
above the falls, where the current runs swift- 
est, is black with these eggs, which float in 
masses, attached to sunken logs and rocks. 
. . . Then there's another thing I do which 
isn't very nice. There is a sort of worm which 
is found in one form on grasshoppers. If the 
grasshopper jumps into my waters and a silly 
fish swallows him, the worm changes to another 
form inside the fish. Then, if that fish is 
eaten by certain animals, the worm changes 
again into a third form and makes that animal 
very ill. It's a shame, isn't it ? But how can 
I help it?" 

" You can't," said Peter, kneeling down 
and stirring the bright sand in the bottom of 

74 



Silver Stairs 

the pool with his fingers. " Oh, my ! What 
is that ? A lobster ? Look, Geraldine ! A 
creature just like a small lobster ran under 
that rock ! ' 

" He'll nip you if you turn over that flat 
stone, " said the Red Squirrel. 

" I will, indeed," said a thin, watery voice. 
" Better let me alone, Peter?" 

" But we want to see you," explained 
Geraldine. "We don't wish to hurt you, 
little lobster." 

"In the first place, I'm not a lobster," 
returned the damp, muffled voice. "In the 
second place, I sleep by day and it's my bed- 
time now; in the third place, I'm good to 
eat, and that Red Squirrel knows it." 

"Give you my word I won't try to eat 
you," said the Squirrel, flourishing his tail. 

"Swear it, then," said the suspicious voice. 

" I swear it by my matchlessly beautiful 
whiskers ! ,! returned the Squirrel, sitting up 

75 



Mountain-Land 

and smoothing out his whiskers with both 
forepaws. 

Then, looking down into the crystal clear 
water, the children saw a curious yellowish- 
brown creature sidle out over the silvery 
bottom sand, waving at them a pair of long 
slender feelers. 

" How-de-do, children ! ' said the creature 
in his watery, colorless voice. " You know, 
of course, to whom you have the honor of 
speaking, don't you?" 

"Are you a crayfish ?" asked Peter, as 
the little creature swam to the surface, made 
a playful pinch at a trout which tried to nip 
his feelers, and then clambered out of water 
onto a flat wet rock in the center of the shal- 
low pool. 

" Crayfish, Crawfish, Astacus, Ecrevisse — 

IVe several titles," said the Crayfish. " I'm 

a famous delicacy in France ; they eat me in 

England too, but people don't seem to care 

76 



Silver Stairs 

much for me here in America. In fact, the 
country folk believe I am poisonous. Ha ! 
ha ! The big trout know better ; the black 
bass and pickerel adore me, so do the squir- 
rels and mink and raccoons and bears. So 
does Kit-Ki, the big, stubby-tailed wild cat. 
Children, there is no soup in all the world 
so delicate as crayfish soup — if you know how 
it's made; but I shan't tell you! Not I." 

"Why do they call you Crayfish ?" asked 
Peter. "You are not a fish, are you?" 

" Fish ! I should think not ! " 

" Are you an insect ? You have antennae," 
ventured Geraldine. 

" Insect ! No, I'm not an insect ! ' retorted 
the Crayfish irritably. " I have gills, but that 
doesn't make me a fish ; I have feelers, but 
they don't make me an insect. I'm a crus- 
tacean of the order of Decapods — one of the 
most ancient of orders, dating from the times 
when this mountain was young." 

77 



Mountain-Land 

" I suppose your ancestors knew the an- 
cestors of our friend the Ice Fly," said Peter 
respectfully. 

"Yes, and ate 'em, too." 

"Oh! Do you eat butterflies?" asked 
Geraldine. 

" Butterflies, worms, beetles — certainly ! 
And," with a sly glance out of his protruding 
eyes, " I eat little fishes, too." 

"When you can catch them! Ha! ha!' 
jeered the fat little trout who had gathered in 
schools to listen. 

"Children," said the Crayfish solemnly, 
"look at me! Study me! It is well worth 
your while, because I am undoubtedly the 
most perfectly beautiful example of perfect 
symmetry existing." 

" I should call you interesting rather than 
beautiful," said Geraldine timidly. 

" I am both, child — both," said the Cray- 
fish indulgently. " You are probably slightly 

78 



Silver Stairs 

bewildered by the more than marvelous mag- 
nificence of my personal appearance. You are 
doubtless slightly stunned by the sudden sight 
of such absolute perfection. " 

"That's it, of course," sneered the Red 
Squirrel, winking at Geraldine. " Go on 
with your life's history, you old water spider!" 

The Crayfish, amazed and angry, ran at 
the Red Squirrel sideways, waving his two 
big lobsterlike claws, but the Red Squirrel 
began to dance and grit his long front teeth, 
and the Crayfish halted on the edge of the 
rock. 

" Oh, please don't let us quarrel ! ' cried 
Geraldine. " The Red Squirrel was only 
joking, you know. Besides, he is, like Caesar, 
already engaged to fight a dreadful battle 
across the Rubicon." 

" Rubifoam," corrected the Squirrel. 

" If you call me that again, I'll souse 

you ! ' cried the Brook. 

12 79 



Mountain- Land 

" Come, come ! ' said Peter firmly. " The 
Crayfish is going to tell us the history of his 
life, if he can get a word in edgeways/' 

"He does everything edgeways," grum- 
bled the Red Squirrel, folding his little hair- 
less hands against his stomach. " Go on ! 
Proceed with the soup." 

"Ah! Soup!' sighed the Crayfish, flat- 
tered. " Indeed there is no such soup as can 
be distilled from me. But, I digress. Whither 
was I at ? " 

"You claimed to be a Decapod," muttered 
the Red Squirrel. 

" So I did ! So I do ! I am a Decapod ! 

Look at me ! My head and neck are inclosed 

in a shield ; my body is armored, too. I have 

eight armored walking legs, two pairs of 

armored pinching claws, big and little feelers, 

and little swimmerets under my big tail 

paddles. 

" My eyes are placed on the end of a pair 

80 



SilnJer Stairs 

of stalks, like short flower stems ; and the eyes 
are compound. My ears are sacs, and I hear 
through the fringe of hairs which surrounds 
them. Here they are, down here near my 
nose, at the base of my little feelers. I hear 
with some of the hairs and I smell with some 
of the hairs. In fact, my ears and my nose 
are nothing but hairs. Isn't that wonderful ?" 

" Perfectly wonderful ! ' said the children 
solemnly. 

"There is something else about me more 
marvelous still," asserted the Crayfish. " I 
have a grinding mill in my inside, made of 
three teeth. When I swallow anything these 
teeth begin to clash, and the mill starts grind- 
ing away like fury. My heart is under my 
back ; I breathe through twenty pairs of gills, 
like little waving feathers, arranged along my 
side ; I breathe the air which I filter out from 
the water. When I'm tired of my armor, I 

cast it off and grow a nqw suit of mail. ,, 

81 



Mountain-Land 

"You mean that all that hard shell comes 
off?" asked Peter, amazed. 

"That's just what I mean. I molt twice 
a year. When I was young I molted my 
armor eight times a year." 

" What did you look like when you were 
a baby ? " asked Geraldine softly. 

"Oh, I was an eggl Mother laid a lot 
of us eggs all over herself one cold day in 
December, four years ago. I was one of those 
eggs. I hatched out in May — a tiny cray- 
fish, shaped and colored just about as I am 
now. And how these miserable trout did 
hang around trying to gobble me ! ' 

The little fat trout, who had gathered to 
listen, opened their mouths in silent grins. 

"Oh, you can laugh!" said the Crayfish 

resentfully, " but I tell you life is no joke 

to a young crayfish. Every greedy trout, 

every furry animal is after him — especially 

when he changes his armor for a new suit. 

82 



Silver Stairs 

And it's a lucky crayfish who reaches my 
age without an accident. . . . What is the 
matter with that Red Squirrel ? " 

The children turned to look at the Red 
Squirrel, who had begun to twitch and chatter 
softly, displaying his long yellow teeth. 

" War is declared ! " muttered the Red 
Squirrel. " Look at that fat, gray villain 
across the brook ! " 

And sure enough, across the brook, seated 
on the ground, and displaying his long teeth, 
was another squirrel, a bigger, fatter squirrel 
than the little red one. But the squirrel was 
not gray ; he was almost black. 

" Why, that's a black squirrel ! ' exclaimed 
Geraldine quickly. " You have no quarrel 
with him, have you ? " 

" Its a gray!" cried the Red Squirrel 
angrily, " no matter what color fur he wears. 
Ho! ho! He can't deceive me with his 
black fur; I know that gray squirrels are 

83 



Mountain-Land 

sometimes black ; but it's the same old kind 
of squirrel ! Look out ! I am going to begin 
to dance ! " 

The little striped Chipmunk now appeared, 
sitting high on a pile of rocks and shrieking 
encouragement to the two warriors, who had 
begun to dance and chatter and jerk their 
tails at one another, and rush up and down 
trees, uttering piercing insults. 

" Oh, it's going to be a terrible battle ! " 
cried the Red Squirrel, running furiously half- 
way up a slender sapling and then running 
furiously down again. 

" I dare you ! I dare you ! " screamed the 
Black Squirrel, whisking up and down a birch 
tree. " Come on ! Come on ! ,] 

" I will as soon as you're frightened ! ' 
screeched the Red Squirrel. " Oh, won't I 
give it to you as soon as you start to run ! ' ! 

" I am not going to run just yet ! I defy 

you ! Redhead ! Redhead ! ' mocked the 

84 







^\ tv - 






'" Black rat! Black rat! Weasel nose! Weasel nose!' shrieked the Red 

Squirrel." 



SilxJer Stairs 

Black Squirrel, hopping furiously about and 
making a great racket among the dead leaves. 

" Black rat ! Black rat ! Weasel nose ! 
Weasel nose ! " shrieked the Red Squirrel. 
" Look out for me the minute you get fright- 
ened ! ' 

The Black Squirrel went on madly scuffling 
up the leaves, but his shrill, chattering defiance 
was not quite as loud as before ; and presently, 
when the Red Squirrel sat up and chattered 
at him, he jumped back, startled. 

" Go for him ! " cried the Chipmunk, sitting 
up high on his pile of rocks. 

At that the big Black Squirrel jumped 
back again ; the Red Squirrel rushed to 
the edge of the stream, the Black turned 
and fled. 

"Hurrah!" screamed the Red Squirrel, 
crossing the brook in one flying leap. 

" He flies ! He flies ! ' cried the Chip- 
munk. 

85 



Mountain-Land 

"Who flies?" asked the Red Squirrel, 
halting. 

" The enemy," said the Chipmunk, waving 
his tail. 

"Then I return contented/' said the Red 
Squirrel, coming back. 

It was true that the Black Squirrel had 
fled. And now the Red Squirrel, tired out, 
came proudly back to the children. 

" A great victory ! A very great vic- 
tory ! ,! he panted. " With incredible forti- 
tude I called him names ; with reckless 
bravery I rushed up and down trees until my 
claws ached ; with sublimely furious patriot- 
ism I scuffled among the leaves, jerking my 
tail almost out of its socket. But I do not 
complain of the dreadful hardships of this 
campaign ; I do not boast of bravery perhaps 
never before equaled. Modestly I return vic- 
torious to my native nut tree where my wife 

awaits " 

86 



Silver Stairs 

" Look out ! ' ! shrieked the Chipmunk, dis- 
appearing among the rocks like a flash. 

And the next instant the Red Squirrel 
darted into a cleft among the roots of a great 
oak tree. 

"Why in the world did he run away?" 
asked Peter, astonished. 

" I think he saw me" said a soft, purring 
voice behind him. 




13 



87 




CHAPTER VI 



KIT-KI 



AT the sound of the soft, purring voice 
the children turned. And there, 
seated on a mossy log, was a huge 
cat as big as a big dog, blinking at them 
very peacefully out of two magnificent green 

eyes. 

88 



KJt-KJ 

" P-pussy ! ' stammered Peter, amazed, 
"w-what a very large cat you are!' 

"O Peter ! " whispered Geraldine, taking 
hold of his hand, " I am perfectly sure that 
I ought to be frightened/' 

" Not at all," said the huge cat mildly. 
" I'm the one to be frightened. I'm terribly 
afraid of Indoor people." 

" W-we w-won't hurt you," faltered Peter. 

" Thank you," replied the cat, yawning, 
and displaying a very red throat and two 
rows of long, sharp, white teeth. 

The children looked at the cat very hard. 

It was not much like a cat after all, for the 

animal before them had two long tufts of 

stiff, dark hair on the tips of its ears, long 

side whiskers, a fluffy, furry ruff around the 

cheeks, and enormous padded paws. Besides, 

it had scarcely any tail — only a short, fluffy 

stub, about four inches long, tipped with 

black. 

89 



Mountain-Land 

" Are you a cat?" asked Geraldine timidly. 
" I never heard of a cat as big as a setter 
dog." 

" I'm a cat, all the same," returned the 
animal, glancing casually at the tip of the 
Chipmunk's nose, which was poking out from 
the cleft among the pile of rocks where he 
had taken refuge. 

" Hello, Kit-Ki ! ' jeered the Chipmunk. 

" Hello yourself," purred the big cat. 
"What are you hiding for?" 

" Ha ! ha ! ha ! ' tittered the Chipmunk. 
" You didn't pounce on me that time, did 
you { 

" Not that time," said the cat, softly lick- 
ing its lips. 

"Is your name Kit-Ki?" asked Peter re- 
spectfully. 

" Oh, these little furry creatures call me 
Kit-Ki ! ,: said the cat carelessly. " Some peo- 
ple call me Tree cat, some Bobcat, some 

90 




'"Is your name Kit-Ki?' asked Peter, respectfully 



KJt-Kj 

Catamount, some Lynx. As a matter of 
scientific interest, I'm the Canada Lynx ; but 
you may call me Kit-Ki." 

" I am very glad that you are not savage," 
said Geraldine. " May I stroke you and 
whisper, ' Poor kitty ' ? " 

" I shouldn't advise you to do that," said 
the Lynx gravely. " I have a very bad tem- 
per. I'd probably bite." 

" But you said you were afraid of Indoor 
people," began Peter. 

" So I am. That's why I bite if they 
touch me. I can't get it out of my head that 
they might hurt me. So, when I hear In- 
door folk moving about in the woods, I 
slink away and lie perfectly still on a log, flat, 
motionless, until they pass, or I climb a tree 
and watch them in silence. But I don't attack 
them ; remember that, children. No Lynx at- 
tacks Indoor people unless they corner him." 

"Never?" asked Geraldine solemnly. 

9i 



Mountain-Land 

" Never. I sometimes screech at them. 
Sometimes, out of curiosity, I follow them. 
But I would never dream of attacking any 
Indoor people. Neither would my cousin, the 
Bay Lynx, who lives across the mountain. " 

"You are not a panther, are you?" asked 
Peter. 

" No, I'm not. Panthers are all gray 
and are long, flat-flanked cats, with very long 
tails. But even panthers don't attack Indoor 
folk in this country. They, like us, run away 
if they can." 

" I do wish I could pet you — just a little," 
said Geraldine wistfully. " Your fur looks so 
soft and thick and long, and you have such 
a pleasant smile — like my pet cat Ladysmith." 

" It won't do," said the Lynx, yawning and 

blinking at the children. Then it settled 

down comfortably on the log, folding its huge 

padded paws under its breast, and glancing 

about lazily. 

92 



Kit-Ki 

" Any rabbits or squirrels or grouse around 
here, children ? " asked the Lynx innocently. 
" I thought I heard a squirrel or two quar- 
reling down by the Silver Stairs a few 
minutes ago." 

"You did," said Peter, "but the Black 
Squirrel ran away from the Red Squirrel, and 
the Red Squirrel ran away from you." 

"From me?" asked the Lynx in surprise. 
" Why should he run from me ? " 

" I suspect you might have eaten him," 
said Geraldine gravely. " Do you eat squir- 
rels, Kit-Ki?" 

"Well," said Kit-Ki reflectively, "if a 
squirrel or a rabbit should try to run into 
my mouth while I lie here, yawning in the 
sun, I suppose the only thing to do would 
be to swallow them and make the best of 
it. I remember once " 

" Oh, good ! Kit-Ki is going to tell us a 
story," cried the children, clapping their hands. 

93 



Mountain-Land 

At the sound of the applause the cat's 
ears flattened and its green eyes blazed. 

" Don't do anything sudden like that," 
growled Kit-Ki, "because I don't like it." 

" We won't," said the children, rather 
scared. 

For a minute the big cat continued to 
glare blankly through the sunshine that poured 
down from spaces in the green roof of leaves 
overhead ; then, gradually, the bristling fur sub- 
sided, the flattened ears rose, the stubby tail 
ceased its spasmodic twitching, and the mild, 
bored look returned to the animal's face. 

" Once," said Kit-Ki, resuming the inter- 
rupted story, " I was lying, spread out flat 
on the limb of a great tree. I was not 
hungry — having met a big rabbit of my ac- 
quaintance " 

"You dined with your friend the rab- 
bit?" asked Geraldine. 

" Ah — yes ! I dined with him — that is, 

94 



Kjt-KJ 

with his aid and assistance. In fact, we 
dined together, very close together — that is to 
say, / dined." 

"Wasn't the rabbit hungry ?" asked Peter. 

" No," said the cat softly. 

" You — you are quite sure you didn't eat 
him ? " ventured Geraldine. 

"Well, now I think of it, perhaps I may 
have eaten him," said the cat thoughtfully. 
" Yes, perhaps that's what became of him, 
because I remember at that dinner my friend 
the rabbit and I were very close to one 
another — so close that he might have got 
on to the table before I noticed it in time to 
prevent myself from swallowing him as part 
of the dinner." 

" How perfectly dreadful," murmured 
Geraldine, shuddering, " to make such a mis- 
take while dining ! ' 

The cat yawned. " To resume," con- 
tinued Kit-Ki, " I was not hungry as I lay 
14 95 



Mount ciin- Land 

basking, stretched out flat on the great limb. 
And, as I lay there, I saw one of those fool 
spruce grouse fly on to the limb about six 
inches from my nose. Oh, those spruce grouse 
are such fools up here in Mountain- Land ! 
You know what they look like — a dark bird, 
smaller than the ruffed grouse, and wearing 
a scarlet patch over the eyes. Why, they are 
so silly that I have seen Indoor folk walk up 
to them and catch them in their hands, just 
for the joke of it — not to eat them, because 
these spruce grouse in Mountain-Land feed 
on the bitter tips of spruce trees, and that 
makes their flesh taste like spruce gum, which 
spoils them for you Indoor folk. But I — 
ahem ! — am not so particular.'' 

The children looked hard at the Lynx. 

"Did you eat that poor spruce grouse?" 
demanded Geraldine. 

" Why, it was a curious thing," said 

Kit-Ki, " that just as I grew tired of watch- 

96 



KJf-*J 

ing the fool bird, and opened my mouth to 
yawn, that idiot of a spruce grouse managed 
to get inside, somehow or other, and when 
I closed my jaws, in surprise, to my intense 
astonishment I found myself swallowing some- 
thing that tasted of spruce tips. Do you sup- 
pose it could have been that spruce grouse ? 
I ask for information ; I never knew exactly 
just where that bird went." 

"O Kit-Ki! Kit -Ki! M said Geraldine. 
" I fear you are worse than Ladysmith, my 
black and white cat. She ate my canary." 

" What is a canary ? ' asked Kit - Ki 
curiously. 

" A dear little yellow bird that sang beau- 
tifully. I punished Ladysmith by drenching 
her with water." 

" Don't the cats that live with Indoor 
people like water ? " 

" Oh, no ! they don't like it at all — except 

to drink." 

97 



Mountain-Land 

" Don't they ever swim ? " asked the Lynx. 

" No. Do you?" 

" Oh, yes ! I swim very well. I can 
swim clear across the lake between the Noon 
Peak and the Gilded Dome. Besides, I 
sometimes fish when I am hungry. I lie out 
on a rock, one paw hanging just over the 
water ; and when a fish comes swimming 
along by the rock I plunge my paw into the 
water and clutch him with — these ! ' And the 
Lynx lazily thrust out a set of great curved 
claws from beneath the velvety gray paws. 

" What terrible claws ! ' said Peter. 

" Like curved blades," whispered Geraldine. 

"They need sharpening," said the Lynx, 

rising, humping up its short, thick body, 

yawning and stretching its long legs. Then 

it fell to clawing the trunk of an ash tree, 

licking its claws occasionally as though liking 

the flavor of the salty ash bark that clung 

to them. 

98 



Kit-Ki 

"You never killed a deer, did you?" 
asked Geraldine. 

" A deer ? Let me see. Seems to me I 
had dinner with a young fawn once " 

"Oh," cried Peter indignantly, "what a 
shame ! ' 

" Don't you eat venison ?" asked the Lynx, 
surprised. 

"Y-yes," stammered Peter. 

"Then why is it a shame for me to 
eat it?" 

"Anyhow," said Geraldine hastily, "you 
don't eat sheep and cows, do you ? " 

" If I am not mistaken," replied the 
Lynx, " I once had luncheon with a young 
lamb " 

" A lamb ! One of ours ? " 

" I believe so. What is there wrong about 
that ? Don't you and Geraldine eat lamb ? " 

The children were silent. 

" As a matter of fact," said the big cat, 

99 



Mountain-Land 

" I have taken breakfast and luncheon and 
dinner with several of our mutual friends — 
once with a nice little pink pig who came 
up here to hunt for acorns. He was delight- 
ful as a— companion. We lunched — er — 
together. And on several occasions I have 
had the pleasure of meeting some of your 
lady turkeys and breakfasting with them. . . . 
By the way, are there any crayfish in this 
pool ? " 

" I don't think we ought to tell," said 
Geraldine. 

The Lynx walked to the edge of the 
sparkling water and crouched. Then it 
began to lap up the water exactly as a cat 
laps milk from a saucer. 

After it had finished drinking it sat there, 

silent, licking its whiskers, big green eyes 

intent on the water. And suddenly, like 

lightning, its great paw was plunged into the 

brook and withdrawn. Something wet and 

ioo 



Kft-K* 

shiny flopped about on the moss, but the cat 
snapped it up. 

"What was that?" asked the children, 
astonished. 

" It tasted something like a trout," replied 
the Lynx, smacking its lips reflectively. Then 
it settled down by the pool's edge once more, 
watching the water, which now was tinted 
pink under the reddening rays of the level 
sun. 

The children watched the great cat at its 
fishing for a while. Sometimes it missed its 
stroke, and, withdrawing a great dripping paw, 
shook it daintily. Sometimes it jerked a cray- 
fish into the air and crunched it, luxuriously, 
with a comfortable purring sound in its throat. 

" It is a long while since I have invited 
a trout or a crayfish to dine with me," ob- 
served the Lynx, licking its chops and sitting 
up. " But I never entirely neglect old friends, 

you see ; and now we are having a delightful 

101 



Mountain-Land 

reunion by the Silver Stairs. Such soup ! 
Such fish ! My ! What a banquet we are 
having ! ' 

The children looked at the Lynx uncer- 
tainly. 

"The sun," said the Lynx, "is getting 
low. You children had better start down the 
mountain, because when the moon rises I may 
do considerable squalling and screeching and 
caterwauling, and it's sure to scare any Indoor 
people who are out in the woods at night." 

" Is — is there another Kitty in these 
woods ? " asked Peter. 

"Yes, there is; a very beautiful lady 

Kitty — young and charming. And I may 

do a little courting to-night ; and I may do 

a few war songs if any other Lynx comes 

around. Of course, my music is good music — 

good classical music ; but it's something like 

Richard Strauss's music which I heard your 

mother playing on the piano when I went 

1 02 



KJt-KJ 

down to the valley to invite one of your big, 
fat, white ducks to dinner ; it requires much 
courage and experience to enjoy it. How- 
ever, you may stay and listen if you like/' 

" I — I don't think we will stay for the 
music, then," said Geraldine — " and thank you 
very much for asking us. Shall we shake 
hands with you before we go ? " 

" It won't do," said the Lynx. " I'd be 
sure to scratch and bite. Good-by ! Give my 
love to that large fat goose of yours which 
I saw out at the farm. I hope some day 
that goose will accept an invitation to dinner 
with me and my sweetheart. I'm sure it 
would be a good dinner. Good-by, children. 
As long as you are polite and mind your own 
business your friend Kit-Ki won't bother you." 

" Good-by ! ' said the children, backing 
off toward the trail. "We will try to mind 
our own business whenever we come to Moun- 
tain-Land." 

15 103 



Mountain-Land 

" That's right! That's good children. 
Trot along, now ; for if you don't hurry your 
shadows will beat you in your race down the 
mountain/' 

"But I've chased my own shadow many 
a time and I can never catch it," said Geral- 
dine, laughing. 

"You can't catch it," said the Lynx, "but 
you can step on its feet ; and, where the trail 
turns to the west, you can beat it running. 
Take my word for it — if you run fast enough, 
you'll pass your own shadow just where the 
trail turns westward ! Now, scoot ! ' 






104 




CHAPTER VII 



THE SHADOW CHASE 



KIT-KI is right," panted Peter as, 
rounding a turn in the trail, they 
came out, flushed and breathless, 
along a cleared spur of the mountain and saw 

the sun glittering low in front of them. 

105 



Mountain-Land 

" Kit-Ki is perfectly right, Geraldine. We 
have outrun our own shadows. There they 
are behind us on the ground now ; weVe 
passed them after chasing them halfway to 
the valley." 

" How warm the sun is on my face ! ' 
breathed Geraldine, flinging the clustering 
curls from her hot cheeks. " It is getting 
redder and redder. Oh, look at the way it 
is painting the tree trunks crimson and gold, 
and how it streaks the whole mountain with 
blue shadows ! ' 

" Patches of red and gold and shadow 
everywhere," murmured Peter. " See those 
two butterflies in the sun's rays ! They are 
dancing with their own shadows, I believe." 

" Of course we are," cried the ruddy- 
golden butterflies, whirling about in the red 
sunbeams while their shadows danced over 
leaf and rock and tree trunk. "Our names 

are Gracilis and Faunus ; we are forest crea- 

106 




" ' We are a giddy pair,' cried the lovely Gracilis." 



The Shadotv Chase 

tures who come out in the rays of the setting 
sun to dance the old-time dances of the 
nymphs and fauns." 

" I never saw butterflies out so late," said 
Geraldine. 

" We are a giddy pair," cried the lovely 
Gracilis, whirling 'round and 'round an oak tree 
which glimmered fiery red on trunk and foliage 
under the level splendor of the sun. "We 
two, Faunus and I, stay out until it is dark. 
We stay up later than any other butterflies ! 
Hi! Ohe ! Faunus, come and dance with me! 
Come and help me catch my shadow ! ' : 

And the two golden -brown butterflies 
dashed madly 'round and 'round the oak 
tree, over the bark of which their shadows 
fluttered and dodged and fled. 

" O Peter ! " whispered Geraldine, " listen ! 

look ! See that beautiful bird chasing his own 

shadow over that big silver- beech tree ! ' 

A soft, rumbling noise broke out in the 

107 



Mountain-Land 

forest stillness ; a big, blackish bird, wearing 
white shoulder tips and a scarlet patch over 
both eyes, sailed out of a slanting beech tree, 
alighted, puffed up its feathers, spread its tail, 
and began bowing to its own shadow on the 
ground. 

" It's a hen — a beautiful wild hen!' whis- 
pered Geraldine. 

" It's a sort of partridge — a grouse, I 
think," said Peter. 

The bird was very handsome ; its ashy 
black plumage was encircled at the neck by 
a gray and white collar, white marks glim- 
mered on shoulders ; the dull orange legs 
were heavily feathered to the toes, the bill 
was black as ebony. And over each eye was 
an orange spot which, as the bird continued to 
strut and bow and dance to its own shadow, 
became brighter and more fiery until it glowed 
like a live coal. 

" Oh, you wonderful, wonderful bird ! ,! 

1 08 



The Shadobv Chase 

cried Geraldine softly. " Please, please tell 
us what you are ! ' 

The bird made a last grand bow to his 
shadow, turned, and with wings trailing over 
the dead leaves making a silken, rustling 
sound, came strutting toward the children. 

" Have you a candle burning inside you?" 
asked Peter. " Those fiery spots over your 
eyes look like tiny jack-o'-lanterns lighted up/' 

" They're scarlet combs," said the bird. 
"When I strut and throw out my chest and 
trail my wings and ruffle my feathers and bow 
and dance to my own shadow, those combs 
grow bigger and bigger, and brighter and 
brighter, and redder and redder, until they 
look like real coals of fire. I do it to please 
my sweetheart, you know." 

"Is she here?" exclaimed Geraldine, clasp- 
ing her hands in delight. 

"Well, I suppose she is — somewhere," 

said the bird, looking around. " She is no 

109 



Mountain^ Land 

doubt watching my shadow-dance and listen- 
ing to my drumming/' 

" Are you a grouse ? ' asked Peter. 

"Yes, of course. I am the Black Heath 
Grouse. Some call me the Spruce Grouse, 
some the Canada Grouse. Then I'm also 
called the Spotted Grouse, Heath Cock, 
Swamp Partridge, Wood Grouse — and a dozen 
other names. Do you see that tall silver-beech 
tree — the big one that leans to the east yonder ? 
That is my drumming tree. The bark is all 
worn off where Fve drummed on it." 

" But why do you drum on it ? ' asked 
Geraldine. u Does it please your sweetheart 
to hear you drum ? " 

" She likes it — at least, she appears to. 

Besides, I must have music of course for my 

sunset shadow dance ; so, as I can't make 

music and dance on the ground at the same 

time, I make my music first and dance along 

up the tree, beginning at the roots and flut- 

no 



The Shadotv Chase 

tering upward. Then I come sailing down 
to the ground and I bob my head and bow 
to my shadow and light up my comb till it 
glows. Shall I show you ? " 

" Oh, please ! ' cried the children. 

The Black Grouse ran nimbly to the base 
of the beech tree, then, hammering the bark 
rapidly with his ebony bill, which made a 
sharp drumming sound, he spread his hand- 
some wings and, beating the trunk of the 
tree, began slowly to flutter upward along the 
stem, his wings going so fast that they seemed 
but a gray blur. 

When the bird had arrived nearly at the 
top of the tree, he hung against the trunk for 
a moment, beating the bark madly, then, 
floating out and away from the foliage, sailed 
earthward on stiffly bowed wings, alighted, and 
began to bow to his shadow. 

" Look ! ' whispered Geraldine, laying one 

hand on Peters shoulder. 

™ in 



Mountain-Land 

A slim, graceful shape was stealing noise- 
lessly out from the velvety shadows of the 
hemlocks — another beautiful Black Grouse, not 
as brightly tipped with white . and orange as 
the first one — a modest, lovely, demure crea- 
ture who moved over the leaves without a 
sound, glancing brightly about at the children, 
at the shadow dance, at the glowing sun's 
rays, streaking the brown leaves with fire. 

"It must be his sweetheart ! ' whispered 
Geraldine with a little thrill of delight. "Oh, 
look, Peter ! He's bowing to her now. See 
him nod and bow and pirouette ! ' 

The little maiden Grouse pretended not to 
see her lover, paying no attention to his beau- 
tiful salutations, but strolled on demurely, peck- 
ing at a tiny beetle here, at a berry there, 
peering brightly about her as she wandered 
off into the crimson light of the forest edge. 

And after her marched her lover, combs 
glowing like two living coals of fire, chest 

112 



The Shadotv Chase 

puffed out, wings atrail, tail spread upright 
like a fan, every quill rustling with a sound 
like the crinkle of stiff black satin. 

And so they disappeared into the sombre 
glow of the woods edge, leaving the children 
alone with the whirling butterflies, Gracilis 
and Faunus, still racing 'round and 'round the 
oak-tree trunk after their flying shadows. 

And now, out of the red west, as the 
children started on down the mountain, crows 
came flying in twos and threes, flapping 
heavily above their shadows which sped be- 
fore them across rock and hillside. 

" If you fly the other way you can beat 
your shadows ! ' called Peter, looking up. 
" We chased our shadows until the path 
turned west, and now weVe beaten them and 
our shadows are chasing us ! ' 

The crows looked down wonderingly. 
" How fast those Indoor children must have 
run," they said, one to another ; " theyVe 

113 



Mountain-Land 

beaten their own shadows in a race down 
the mountain. We've never done that ! 
And all our lives weve been chasing our 
shadows, following them west at sunrise and 
east at sunset ; but we never seem to over- 
take them." 

" Fly the other way ! That's how it's 
done ! ' cried the children. 

" But we don't live in that direction ! ' 
cawed the crows, winging slowly overhead. 

" Then you'll never, never catch your 
shadows ! ' the children called up to them. 

" Who knows ? You can catch anything 
if you only fly fast enough ! " cawed the crows, 
passing overhead ; and the children saw their 
shadows gliding swiftly across moss and stub- 
ble and rock and tree trunk with the crows 
in slow pursuit. 

Down, down the mountain side sped the 

children, racing along through the rosy evening 

glow. The round sun, dipping low through 

114 



The Shcidobv Chase 

the mountain's cleft, glowed like a cherry -red 
ball pulsating with carmine fire ; their shadows, 
thinner and vaguer now, streamed away behind 
them up the rocky slope. 

" Where do our shadows go when the sun 
sets ? ' panted Geraldine as they came out 
on the level, flat, gravel reaches, where willow 
and alder clumps marked the course of the 
valley stream. 

" I suppose they go to bed, as we do." 

" But we can see our shadows by moon- 
light and by candlelight. " 

" Probably," said Peter, steadying Geral- 
dine by the hand as they started across the 
stepping-stones, " probably our shadows stay 
up as long as we do and go to bed when we 
do. Look, Geraldine ! See all those midges 
dancing in the pink light over the water. 
Everything seems to be dancing shadow 
dances at sunset. And see those cherry birds 
fluttering out over the stream, hovering around 

115 



Mountain-Land 

the midges and gnats as though they were 
joining in the evening dance. Look ! Quick ! 
What is that? A bat?" 

"O Peter! It's a huge moth! There's 
another, too ! And another ! They are all 
fluttering and soaring and dipping and dancing 
over the bushes ! " 

"They must be bats," said Peter. "They 
are too big for moths." 

" We are moths ! " cried a soft, silky voice 

as one enormous moth came flapping around 

Geraldine. " We are the Giant Silkworm 

moths who come out at sundown to dance 

bat-dances in the last red gleam of daylight. 

That great fawn-colored fellow who wears a 

pair of peacock eyes on his lower wings is 

Cousin Polyphemus ; that dusky fellow edged 

with gray is Cousin Promethea. Then there 

is Cousin Cynthia in olive-green and old-rose, 

with her wings set with transparent silvery 

moons ; and I am old Brother Cecropia, the 

116 




We are moths ! ' cried a soft, silkv voice." 



The Shadotsj Chase 

biggest of all, the giant of my family, with 
dark wings embroidered in brick -red and 
crimson and pearl/' 

" Oh, please, please don't flutter about 
so ! ' pleaded Geraldine. " We can scarcely 
catch a glimpse of your beautiful colors. Why 
do you come out only at dusk when nobody 
can see the tints on your lovely wings ? " 

" Our sweethearts can see," said a huge 
green Luna moth, battling softly with a gay 
little breeze which tried to blow him back 
into the forest from which he had just floated. 

" Do you wear such lovely silken clothes 
only for your sweethearts ? " asked Geraldine. 

" Only for them. We hide in the forests 
by day." 

" But, suppose on a very dark night your 
sweethearts could not find you?" ventured 
Geraldine. 

"Why, we are all deliciously scented. We 

can find one another by the perfume we 

117 



Mountain-Land 

wear. Sniff hard, Peter. Can you not detect 
a delicious odor about me as I hover around 
your nose ? " said the big Cecropia moth. 

"Yes, I can. It smells something like 
green butternuts," said Peter. 

"That's it! Isn't it delightful?" said the 
great moth, whirling upward in a spiral course 
— up, up, higher and higher, until the chil- 
dren, heads thrown back, could scarcely see 
the tiny speck mounting into the zenith. 

" It's gone ! ' said Geraldine, looking at 
Peter. "I never, never supposed a moth could 
fly as high as a bird." 

" Whiz-z-z ! " whispered a great pink and 
olive -green hawk- moth, whirring up to a 
shadowy blossom and hanging there, hover- 
ing on misty wings which vibrated so fast 
that they seemed only a silvery blur in the 
twilight ; " whizz ! whirr-r ! Talking about 
birds, look at me, children ! I can beat a 

humming-bird, if I try. Gee-whiz ! How I 

118 



The Shadobv Chase 

can fly ! Z-zip ! ' And the moth was gone 
as by magic, leaving the rifled blossom 
trembling. 

" Peter," whispered Geraldine, when they 
had safely crossed the dusky water on the 
flat stepping-stones, " do you see that curious 
red star shining above the bank ? " 

"Yes. How red it is! Oh, look, Geral- 
dine ! It is moving ! I — I never saw a star 
that wobbled in the sky like that ! ' 

Then they heard their father laughing as 
he removed the cigar from his mouth, the 
glowing tip of which, shining in the dark, 
they had taken for a red star in the darkness. 
And a moment later a big white setter came 
splashing and wagging through the water to 
thrust a cold nose into their hands and leap 
back, circling around them barking. 

"Your mother was growing anxious," said 
their father, taking them by their hands and 

walking between them. " Somebody has been 

17 119 



Mount airi- Land 

telling her about a wild cat being seen on the 
mountain last week." 

"There is one," said Peter simply, "named 
Kit-Ki." 

"Oh, that's one of old Phelim's stories," 
said their father. " Every time a fox catches 
a turkey up on the farm, old Phelim thinks 
he hears a wild cat. But I wish he wouldn't 
talk about it to your mother. Did you have 
a good time ? " 

"Splendid!' said Geraldine sleepily, clasp- 
ing her fathers hand tighter, her slim legs 
wavering a little as she trudged up the path. 
And after a while her father stooped and 
swung her up, carrying her in his arms. 

" I — I'm not tired," she said drowsily, 
as her curly head fell back on his shoulder 
and her eyes slowly closed. 

" There was a cat," began Peter with a 

yawn, as they came out on the great dim 

stretches of lawn across which the lights of 

1 20 



The Shadokv Chase 

home twinkled through the darkness — -" there 
was a cat, with a stubby tail and whiskers on 
his ears, named Kit-Ki." 

" So Phelim says," said their father ab- 
sently. u He says there are fairies up on the 
mountain, too, doesn't he?" 

Peter yawned and yawned. "Yes," he 
managed to say, " and we saw a butterfly 
named Gracilis and another named Faunus ; 
and they may have been fairies disguised as 
gold and brown butterflies — " Here he 
yawned again and steadied his tired legs by 
holding tight to the sleeve of his fathers 
coat " Butterflies — hawks, owls, crayfish, and 
Giant — Giant moths," he murmured drowsily. 
"They've all talked and talked until I'm 
sleepy." 

" I should think so," murmured their 
father, smiling, as a white slender figure came 
across the dusky lawn and held out two 
strong, young arms for the sleeping Geraldine. 

121 



Mount ain" Land 

" I'll take her, dear/' said the figure 
in white. " You pick up Peter and carry 
him in." 

" But, mother," said Peter, " I am not 
tired." 

" I'm not tired, either/' murmured Geral- 
dine, unclosing her eyes and putting both 
arms around her mothers neck. 

But, when their father and mother entered 
the great hall, they stood a moment, smiling, 
silent, looking at each other. For the chil- 
dren lay fast asleep in their arms, dreaming 
the dreams of Mountain- Land. 




a) 



122 





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